


mellifluous

by orphan_account



Category: Macross Delta, マクロスΔ
Genre: F/M, Romance, slight AU, smut later on probably ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Her hair spilled onto the marble floor, dying the surface a deep violet. He couldn't help but stare.





	1. dissonance

He was immediately struck by how unrecognizable the commander of the Aerial Knights had become. The air of superiority that accompanied Roid Brehm’s every movement was infuriating and the way the king clung to his every word even more so. Long gone were the days where they could call each other comrades, friends even. Now the man who stood in front of him was nothing more than a snake. 

A snake who had all of Windermere wrapped around his finger.

Keith narrowed his eyes as the king smiled, emerald eyes that used to be so honest and full of hope had become tainted. Yet he was not to blame for the corruption. The perpetrator was kneeling by the throne, relishing in the kingdom he had so willingly perverted. He looked as if he had already won the war, as if he held the entire galaxy in his gloved hands, as if he was a god. From behind glasses, green eyes glanced at the white knight.

He averted his gaze, overwhelmed with both regret and disgust.

* * *

Time passed slowly in this place. She spent her time in two rooms - his and what he called ‘the sanctum’.

She stood in silence, surrounded by ice. Her shoulders were cold and her fingers a shade of frost. Coarse rope restrained her, and she mused to herself how sad it was that the wretched thing was her only source of heat. Footsteps, heavy and confident approach her then, echoing throughout the tall room. There was no reason for her to turn for the sight of his face made her stomach churn. Instead, she braced herself.

_“Rudanjal Rom Mayan.”_

Familiar and unbearable pain overwhelmed her in an instant. The past she tried desperately to deny wrapped around her form like a rope. As the galaxy crept up to her face, swirling and churning, and her lips parted.

~

“Your highness, I implore you - “ He started, head bowed respectfully although he wanted nothing more than to stand upright. “To listen to me. The commander you trust is nothing more than a rat.”

The king sat impassively, his stern face contrasted with his frail figure draped in clothes all too big and surrounded by the softest of blankets. There was a time when they would share beds and laughs but now all that remained was bitter regret. A frown graced his youthful face then, it did not suit him in the least. None of this suited him. The crown, this duty, and this cruel destiny he was born into.

“...Roid Brehm has done nothing but fight for our kingdom,” a cold voice, so unfamiliar that it shocked the older brother. “He is a trusted commander who has nothing more than Windermere’s best interests at heart. I would rather not discuss this matter right now, Keith. Please leave me be.”

The Aerial Knight gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and without complaint, left the room after excusing himself. He did not look back and thus did not see the king lean back into his pillows and close his eyes. The rune that once shined so brightly had been reduced to nothing but a dull glow.

It was worse than he had initially thought. He was fuming as he walked down the corridor, what little power he had prior to his father’s death had dissipated before his eyes, faded into dust. Now, he was nothing more than a prince in name, a pawn.  A person to be discarded once they had outlived their use. The thought was aggravating to say the least. Yet he couldn’t deny the fact that it was not as farfetched as he wished it was.

That man, Roid Brehm - just the _mention_ of his name made the golden haired knight want to smash his fist against the wall -  draped in secrets would undoubtedly bring ruin to the kingdom. He was sure of it. Soft whispers late at night revealed similar beliefs among the older Aerial Knights, although the younger ones remained blindly loyal. Yet they knew not what to do - for they were neither kings or strategists, only mere soldiers.

Azure eyes swept over the walls that laid cold and bare on the marble floors. They stopped at a window, where frost dappled the glass like tiny fragments of snow.

Keith looked up towards the sky.

Two young boys, blissfully naïve soared across the almost infinite expanse of clear blue. The wind blew through their hair, their runes shined brightly under the soft sun. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it.

* * *

 

He woke up in a cold sweat. Images, violent and hot, still echoed throughout his mind. Closing his eyes, the man tried to calm his breathing. He could not recall the exact details of the nightmare, and that alone scared him. His hand goes to his forehead, wiping away remnants of fear, weakness. The knight’s room was cold, winter air blowing in through windows he had forgotten to close.

Feet meeting the stone floor, he made his way to the other side of the room. The curtains were pulled apart, revealing cool mountains swathed in night. Buttoning his white shirt in an attempt to combat the onslaught of cold wind, Keith approached the window. It was dark, but he could make out the moon - obscured by the strangest of clouds that danced as if they were swimming. Stars littered the night sky - flickering dimly as the wind blew trees back and forth. In the far distance, surrounded by snow-capped mountains was a small village. It was decorated by warm golden lights that cast a glow above it. Some distance away from the village lay an orchard that he could barely make out yet was no less important. He breathed in the air, closing his eyes. This was his home, _his_ kingdom.

And then he heard it.

An overwhelming voice, a tearful song, _the wind._

He whipped his head around, blue rune flickering. It wasn't Heinz. The wind cut sharply into his cheek.

It took him less than ten seconds to leave his room. Pulling his pair of boots deftly onto his feet, hurriedly grabbing his sword, he closed the door behind him. He did not know what he was doing, what he should do, or what had to be done. But he felt that if he didn't find the voice - nothing would change. His brother’s face flashed across his mind. He would not allow that to happen. There was no way, no way in _hell_ , that he would sit idly by as his kingdom was destroyed.

He was quick and agile. Weaving between corridors he knew all too well. The voice led him to her, dying walls and floors, tapestries and statues, a distraught violet. It was impulsive, the course of action he had chosen. But, it was already too late to turn back. It was late at night, the only source of light was the moon’s rays, filtering in through floor length curtains. Inwardly, the knight wondered why only he had heard the song. This thought was quickly abandoned once he reached the source.

A door he had passed through many times before. The door that led to the sanctum. Where he has witnessed many times over - the power of the wind singer.

Yet it was not the king who sang.

Standing by the ruins, was a woman. Her long, violet hair billowed out behind her, obscuring all of her form. She did not sense his presence, continuing to sing with a voice that sounded strangled, yet also eerily beautiful. At that moment it did not matter who she was, who he was or even where they were. Her voice - a melody that could not possibly be replicated - transcended all.

And then her song stopped. She did not turn to face him - as much as he wanted her to - simply remaining still.

“Let me leave,” in a voice that sounded so tired and lifeless that it hurt. “Roid Brehm."

He didn't respond, letting a tense silence fill the room. After a few short moments, where the two stood separated by an immense amount of space, the woman finally turned.

What caught his attention first and foremost was her eyes. A shade of crimson, much like the blood he saw after the fight with the grim reaper, only this time; it was dull and lifeless. Her expression was similar in nature, blank as she looked at him. Instinctively, he searched for her rune. But the only thing shining bright that he could see - was the sanctum behind her. And then - the realisation dawned upon him. He had seen her before. Not too long ago - in the midst of a battle. Her name escaped him, but he knew enough. Walküre.

He hid his surprise behind a face of impassiveness. The woman spoke first.

With a cold voice and colder eyes, she demanded, “Who are you?”

The White Knight remained silent. She needn't know just yet. Instead he began to approach her, boot clad feet clacking on the hard ground. The woman automatically took a step back - clearly perturbed by his mere presence. At this angle, he could see that she was restrained by heavy rope from her shoulders to her waist. He inwardly stifled a laugh, that man always did have bad taste.

She tried to run but he caught her arm with a heavy grip. He lifted her into his arms - her body was soft - undeniably a woman and he assumed that she was of age. Her lips opened - ready to scream, shout, plead - but she didn't. Something stopped her. A stark realisation. Eyes wide, a million stars rolling around like a galactic sea, she simply whispered.

“Just take me away from this place.”

Keith smirked - an expression of pure malice painted across his features, “Don't misunderstand. I'm not here to save you.”

* * *

 

His strides were long, confident. If he were in anyway paranoid or afraid, he did not let it show. The man’s face was composed as he carried her down the unfamiliar, darkened hallway, his footsteps heavy on the hard flooring. Windows and paintings passed her by quickly in a blur their muted colours blending into the night. The further they were from the sanctum, from its light, the more uneasy she began to feel. Her skin begun to crawl and goosebumps appeared on her pale arms.

These emotions weren't hers. She - _Mikumo_ \- wanted nothing more than to be rid of that place. The place where her voice was used to destroy. That sanctum draped in darkness and fear.

So she relaxed her body in his grip, her resistance now a mere thought in the back of her mind. She allowed him to take her down those halls. Wanting nothing more than to be rid of that place.

The man finally came to a stop. An ornate door, decorated with gold, yet indistinguishable from all the other doors she had passed. He set her down, a heavy hand on her shoulder - she almost laughed at the unnecessary nature of it - and unlocked the door with his free hand. She glimpsed a small brass key before it was quickly returned to his pocket, averting her gaze when he felt her lingering glance.

She was roughly pushed inside, his hand a tight grip around her shoulders. The Windermere locked the door behind them and she heard it close with two soft _‘clicks’._

The room was lavishly furnished, decorated with emblems that she couldn't quite recognise. A large bed - draped in the whitest of sheets rest in the middle of the room, its mauve canopy spilling out onto the floor. Everything was so vastly different to what she was used to back on Ragna. Ornate wardrobes replacing rough drawers. She felt sick to her stomach.

Still, she forced herself to be strong. Turning herself towards her new captor, her eyes narrowed.

“What is it that you want from me?”

The man gave no visible reaction to her question. Instead, he moved to the open glass window that stood across from them. It had been so long since she had been exposed to fresh air, so she began to rest a little easier when he left it open. His rune, a blue that reminded her of the sky, was dull.

“I want,” he started, voice low. It was deep and a little rough - nothing like the cruel yet sweet tone that man used with her. “The truth.”

Mikumo tilted her head ever so slightly. Upon seeing her questioning look, he began to elaborate.

“What exactly does Roid plan to do with you?”

As if she was aware of it. That man’s mind was incomprehensible, a garbled mess hungry for power, for the Galaxy. Yet, to spill that out would only result in her early demise - she spared his hard face a short glance - she was sure of it.

“And why should I tell you?” Her voice was tinged with what she hoped was suspicion.

He turned to face her, face indiscernible. Behind him, the wind blew in furiously, sending violent ripples up and down the curtains. She finally recognised him then, put a name to his face. The man who killed Messer. He approached her, taking long strides, yet she didn't shirk from him. His form obscured the window, the night sky, and the cold wind.

He was so close; she could feel his breath on her lips.

“You want it too, right?” The White Knight murmured, instilling a sense of dread within her. “The fall of Roid Brehm.”

She couldn't help but stiffen. Noticing this, he let out a small smirk and took a step back.

“Our goals are the same.”

“They are _not_.”

At this, his smirk only grew wider. It was far too late for her to realise that she had long since exposed herself. The loss of power, of leverage, irked her to no end.

Stilling her heart, feeling it turn to stone, she asked harshly, “and why would I trust you?”

He brushed his hair back from his face, letting it run through his long fingers. Although his smirk had disappeared, replaced by an expression of quiet annoyance, his rune had begun to shine. The idol supressed a shiver.

“Frankly, you don't have much of a choice.”


	2. cantata

 

She felt herself frown for a moment. He was right. She was alone in this foreign country, surrounded by the enemy on all sides. Not only that, all it took was one name to force her to sing for them. until the Delta Platoon came for her, all she could do was stall for time in an attempt to prevent a premature death. She couldn't tell him much – she herself didn't know the specifics of that man's plans, however, all she had to do was tell him _enough_.

"That man, Roid Brehm," she noticed the tiniest hint of a scowl flash across his face. "Seemed to believe that I was something he called the Star Singer."

At this, the man stiffened. It was as if he had realized something, a dark, humourless expression appeared on his features.

His next line wasn't meant for her ears. "So that's what this is about…"

He leant towards her, causing her to instinctively recoil. Was he going to hurt her? Touch her? She had never been with a lover, let alone a complete stranger. Crimson eyes look around in panic as a flustered matching heat crept up her face. His hands reached for her shoulders, long fingers pale under moonlight, and she lifted her own in response. To her surprise, she felt her restraints loosen and fall.

"Why are you…?"

The man looked up at her, his hands still working on the remaining bindings. His movements were deft, as if he was already well familiar with them.

"Would you prefer it if I left you like that?" Was it just her imagination or did she glimpse a small hint of a smirk?

Her cheeks reddened, "Of course not!"

She may have been born only three years ago, but she wasn't that naïve. The distasteful nature of the leather that bound her was not lost. Watching as the last of the restraints fell away she began to relax. Just a little. But the moment the stranger turned around, her heart began to jump. She was in enemy territory. While he was relatively hospitable – compared to a certain person – she couldn't deny the fact that she was in danger. This was her chance. Taking the bindings that had restricted her for so long in her hands, she lightly stepped towards him. She stilled her breathing, narrowed her eyes and –

Before she could even register it, the man had already disarmed her, his hands tight around her wrists. In shock, she let go of the bindings, letting it tumble unceremoniously to the floor. Her leg moved to kick him, but she had forgotten that her strength was not what it used to be. He had both her hands in one of his own, and the other went to smoothly block her feeble attack. She was dragged towards the large bed and thrown onto it like a sack of cheap goods.

"Be careful," he towered over her – his blue eyes burned, it was the first time she saw him truly angry. "If you try that again, I won't be able to control myself."

The door shut and she was left alone again.

* * *

Although he seemed calm and composed, Keith had known him long enough to see under that perfectly crafted mask. It's white porcelain surface was beginning to crack. The other Aerial Knights didn't seem to notice anything, and if the older ones did – if Herman did - he didn't show it.

Things carried on as they usually did.

Train. A break. And train again.

And he would return to his room afterwards, carrying a little too much food than usual. Hermann only raised an eyebrow while Bogue continued to deliver his lecture on the dangers of pop music. Neither attempted to question him on his solitary eating habits. They respected him enough not to intrude. He heard the twins clap in awe behind him as he left the dining hall. Voices dissipated into air as he found himself alone. Solitude didn't bother him, in fact, the wind was stronger when he was away from others.

Balancing the silver tray in one hand, he unlocked the door to his room. A short side-glance revealed an empty hallway. That, he expected, but it would do no harm to be careful. He paused at the door. There was no scuffling, no hushed voices, nothing that suggested any offence being committed. It was merely, eerily quiet.

He opened the door to reveal his room exactly as he had left it. Except for one thing. Setting the tray down, Keith began to move. He paced around the room, feigning an air of peace while examining each and every inch. There was no sign of a struggle, his own bed was neatly made except for wrinkles in the fabric left by her. _So the servants haven't come in since yesterday._ That was fine. That was expected.

A 'click' and a creaking of a door interrupted his thoughts. He noticed an influx of steam whilst turning to the source. It surrounded him like heavy clouds.

Clad in nothing but a towel – _his_ towel – and holding open the bathroom door was the star singer. Her hair clung to her skin, violet on ivory, as well as the fabric did. He couldn't help but watch as a droplet of water slid down her smooth thighs and –

"Ah," was the first thing that fell from her lips.

He averted his gaze. And wished that the view from the window was even a fraction as satisfying.

After clearing his throat, he was finally able to speak, "I've brought your dinner."

The silver platter sat on the top of the coffee table. It was piled bread, fruit and meat, all haphazardly arranged. She approached the meal cautiously and he tried to avoid watching the way the towel ever so slightly shifted upwards. The air of wariness that accompanied her movement was understandable, and in a way, he commended her on feeling such a way. Only an idiot would feel comfortable in her position.

"It isn't poisoned," the man found himself saying to her.

She turned looked at him, clearly not convinced. _For god's sake…_ His legs carried him towards her, towards the platter that sat atop the short wooden table to be exact. Bending down, he took the fork and picked up a piece of meat, layered with a sauce that wasn't by any means extraordinary. The woman watched as he chewed the food briskly.

Placing the fork back down on the napkin, he stared expectantly at her. "Well?"

The response he received was an expression akin to defeat. He found no reason to be there any longer than necessary once she sat down on his couch.

At the door, he heard her call out to him.

"What should I call you by?"

Her face was innocent, ruby eyes clear, betraying no immediately obvious malicious intent. Yet, he could not understand why she would even care. Could not even begin to. He was a Winderemerean. And he was sure that the singer was present when he delivered the killing blow to one of her own. Perhaps she really was an idiot.

Yet a strange, unfathomable part of him wanted to hear her call his name in that melodic voice of hers.

"Keith."

* * *

A presence behind him. Shrouded in darkness so that only segments of his clothes and face were visible. The White Knight allowed an almost amused smile to grace his features.

"Since when have you taken to lurking in the shadows, Roid?"

He emerged from the darkness, white hair obscuring part of his face. It was difficult to discern the nature of the commander's intentions as he slowly advanced towards the other man. For a moment, he thought that he had been exposed. That he had somehow known that she was held behind the door that stood behind them. But then Roid's formerly impassive face broke into a small, measured smile and the knight let himself relax.

"That wasn't my intention I assure you," his long fingers go to his glasses as they often did.

Keith leant against the wall, feeling its cold, hard surface through the fabric of his shirt. "So, what are you doing roaming about so late?"

A small, barely noticeable raise of the eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same question Keith."

"This is my room."

The man sighed – almost impatiently. "I am well aware of that. What I meant was, why do you look like you're heading out when you should be retiring for the night?"

Azure eyes averted their gaze. It was a tiny gesture, but not one that went unnoticed.

"I was going to go for a walk." A brief pause. "Need some fresh air."

"Oh? Something on your mind?" His question seemed innocent enough, only this was Roid and it would be out of character for it to be without an ulterior motive.

The blond haired knight straightened himself. "Not particularly."

He brushed past him just as a cloud buried the white moon.

* * *

The Windermerean didn't return after that. She knew not where he slept at night, he was handsome enough – any woman, or man, wouldn't hesitate to allow him to rest with them.

A cold splash of water hit her face. The Mysterious Venus looked up into the mirror that hung above the sink.

Her loneliness didn't stem from the fact that he in particular wasn't with her. She had been isolated for so long, first in the sanctum and now this foreign bedroom, that she had missed what it was like talking to a person. Not about the war, or her past, just…anything.

Although she longed to be back on Ragna – she was homesick, she had decided, she found herself missing Walküre most of all. She missed Reina's soft voice, Makina's warm hugs, Kaname's soft smiles and Freyja's bright beams. It was wishful thinking, but she wanted to be able to return quickly and safely to them.

Cerise irises, the colour of freshly spilled blood and berries stare unnervingly at her through the smooth surface. Behind them, lay a past hidden by secrets and time. Something distant, something alien. Something she wanted no part of. As much as she tried to deny it, she didn't belong with Walküre, didn't deserve to. Her home wasn't in this cold place either, the lack of a rune told her so.

Then where did she belong?

His fingers flicked through the faded pages of the journal. It was littered with nonsensical musings, almost psychopathic urges and recipes for things he didn't think would even work. Yet it was all he had on the mysterious Star Singer. In the little free time that he had, the White Knight had taken to roaming the castle's library, scouring for any information that could even be remotely relevant.

Yet it seemed as if all material, if there was any to begin with, had been taken. Hidden from prying eyes. There was only one person he could think of who would have enough interest and enough power to do such a thing.

Bitterly, he forced his eyes that had begun to drift to return to the page. Scrawled line after scrawled line of rambling, his patience was at its limit.

Keith let out a sigh, picking himself up from the armchair, the book secured under his arm. He wouldn't give up on the journal yet, it was his only lead. For now, he had only bits and pieces that faintly referred to the entity in vague terms. But in this vast expanse of space filled with books from hundreds of years ago, this tattered, fragile collection of pages was all that remained on the Star Singer.

That wasn't exactly true.

What appeared to be her reincarnation, or something similar, was resting in his room. Out of Roid's reach, if barely. As he walked down the hallway, rare sunlight filtering in through glass, his mind remained fixated on what was unknown. It was a mystery - she was a mystery - that he was determined to uncover. He had to. He must. In between her hands, she innocently held the fate of Windermere.

Closing the door of his bedroom behind him, he was glad that for once he was not met with a startling sight. Long, violet hair draped over his sofa where she lay, eyes closed, chest heaving up and down so very slowly. It bothered him to see her sleeping there when there was a perfectly satisfactory bed only metres away from her. He placed the journal on top of his dresser, planning to continue reading at a later date.

His gaze went to the woman lying on plush velvet. The White Knight couldn't deny that she was striking, her lips were full and plump, her eyelashes long and brushing against soft skin, an image of beauty. But what had captured his attention first, was the expression she had worn when he first saw her.

She had looked at him listlessly, the way a doll looked at the world.

Perhaps he was slightly disturbed for finding that part of a woman attractive rather than her figure or her face. The man stifled a chuckle, he really was losing the plot.

Of course, he would never say that aloud.

The door shut behind him quietly and her eyes fluttered open just as she heard it's soft _'click'_.

* * *

"Your Highness!"

The shout echoed just as the king collapsed, his heavy breaths penetrating the eardrums of all. His attendants rushed to him almost immediately as Keith watched vacuously. He was suffering, even a half blind man could see that, droplets of sweat rolled down his forehead, and nobody missed how his body trembled. The commander was by his side, one hand resting reassuringly on his back as the young boy struggled to breathe. There was no need for the older brother. No need at all.

He had decided that himself years ago.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you v much for reading!! constructive criticism very much appreciated~

**Author's Note:**

> i am a wholesome woman don’t look at me. also I can't believe Keith is 1 year older than mikumo?? (ph-physically ofc)


End file.
